


Numb me down to the core

by Emjen_Enla



Series: Prompted Works [30]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: (because its the Shelbys), (because let's be honest with ourselves: they are), Alcohol, Delayed Reactions, Dysfunctional Family, Episode: s04e01 The Noose, Episode: s04e06 The Company, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Episode: s03e06, Sibling Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21540553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjen_Enla/pseuds/Emjen_Enla
Summary: On Christmas Eve Finn Shelby had three brothers. Now he had one. Or Finn and Tommy in the aftermath of Arthur’s “death.”
Relationships: Aberama Gold & Tommy Shelby, Finn Shelby & Lizzie Stark, Finn Shelby & Tommy Shelby, Grace Burgess/Tommy Shelby, Implied (in the author's opinion), Polly Gray & Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby & Charlie Shelby, Tommy Shelby & Linda Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, mentions of
Series: Prompted Works [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1366669
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80
Collections: Peaky Blinders Exchange Round Two: Season 5 Edition





	Numb me down to the core

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeo/gifts).



> I still can’t tell if we were supposed to write a s5 specific fic, but I’m operating under the assumption that since crossovers were allowed we’re not restricted to s5.
> 
> This was supposed to just be about 4x06, but somehow the aftermath of 3x06 and 4x01 snuck in. Trust me to write a fic that forces me to write about s3 when I found the plot of that season so convoluted I couldn’t keep track of it. **sigh**
> 
> Writing this required reversing some of Finn and Linda’s character development, which wasn’t fun, especially since I’m of the mind that Linda was well within her rights to leave Arthur. She’s grown on me over the seasons.
> 
> Tbh I’m not positive I managed to imply Tommy x Lizzie or Tommy x Alfie in this, but that’s the way I read certain exchanges in this fic, so I decided to tag it.
> 
> Title is from “Gone” by Bebe Rexha.

Finn Shelby had been young at the start of the war, but far from the youngest. The youngest children completely forgot the men that left and responded to their returns with fear and crying. Finn had not been like that. He’d been old enough to remember Arthur, Tommy and John and to know they were not strangers when they returned. Still, the memories he had of them before the war were almost dreamlike, somewhat secondary to the memories of them after it.

All this to say, Finn didn’t mourn the death of the metaphorical “Old Tommy” the way the rest of the family did. Apparently that Tommy had laughed and joked and stole people’s horses just for the joy of riding them. Finn remembered enough of the time before the war to know that the Old Tommy was not, in fact, metaphorical, but the truth. However, to him it felt like the person Tommy was now was the person he had always been.

Finn did have one memory of the old Tommy which stuck out more clearly than the rest. Finn had been little--he wasn’t clear on exactly how little, but he’d definitely been little--and he’d had a nightmare. Tommy must have heard him because the next thing he knew he was being lifted up into his older brother’s arms and sung back to sleep. Tommy had an absolutely terrible singing voice, but it was still one of Finn’s favorite memories. That was probably why he’d never mentioned it to anyone. He was pretty sure it had actually happened, but he couldn’t shake the fear it hadn’t. As long as he didn’t ask he never had to know for sure.

~~~~

Finn’s life had been full of a chaotic carousel of siblings, nieces and nephews, distant relatives and trusted members of the Peaky Blinders. It gave his life a lot of comfort and safety. He wasn’t naive enough to think that things had always been good, though. He remembered holely boots and thread-bare clothes which had been worn by Arthur, Tommy, John and sometimes Ada before him. He remembered the winters spent huddled together by the kitchen cook stove because they couldn’t afford enough coal to heat the house. He remembered the meals were Tommy or Polly or both would claim not to be hungry and carefully divide their measly portions among the rest of the family--it wasn’t until later when Finn was old enough to understand that they’d been going hungry so the rest could eat that he thought to wonder why Arthur never did this.

Even though he knew things hadn’t always been good, Finn had always been happy, even when things were at their worst. He was Shelby and even when they were so poor they couldn’t afford cigarettes and most of the food they ate was literally stolen, he’d always felt safe and loved. In fact, if the rest of the world weren’t so fond of gossiping about the way that Arthur Shelby Sr. had vanished without word only to return months later with a baby to dump on his sister and second oldest son, Finn wasn’t sure how long it would have taken him to realize Tommy, Arthur, John and Ada were his half siblings. None of the family had ever seemed to think Finn’s parentage was worthy of any note. He was a Shebly and that was that. Still, all things considered one of the nice things about the Shelby Family’s new prestige was that no one had dared call Finn a bastard in ages.

Then there was the Russian business. Grace died, a train blew up and Polly, Michael, Arthur and John were arrested. Finn spent several days cowering in the Watery Lane house in fear. He thought of making a break for it and hoping the Lees would take him in, but he couldn’t be sure no one was after him. He sat in the kitchen staring at the walls and waiting for the worst to happen. He ate all the fresh food in the house and moved on to the cans. When race day came he ignored the knocking on the doors and eventually it went away. He contemplated how long he could survive without going outside. By this point it was obvious that no one was going to break into the house and arrest him, but he was still convinced he would be arrested if he dared show his face in public. How did he know that he hadn’t just been forgotten in the scuffle? Maybe if he showed his face the police would think, “oh, that’s right, there’s four Shelby brothers” and arrest him too. 

He had been alone in the house for two weeks when someone knocked on the front door. Finn ignored it, just as he’d ignored all the other knocking for the last few weeks. After a while it stopped. He thought whoever it was was gone but then a key scraped in the lock and the door opened.

Finn bolted to grab a gun, but he was blinded by the light and by the time he could see again whoever it was was inside and closing the door.

“Have you been sitting here in the dark for two weeks?” Lizzie Stark asked.

Turned out Lizzie had been sent to make sure the betting house was opened for race day. She said she’d tried calling before she came but hadn’t gotten through--unsurprisingly given he’d pulled the phone out of the wall two weeks before--so she’d just come over. Neither of them acknowledged that she didn’t have keys for the house so the ones she’d used to get in must have been Tommy’s. In fact, Finn was fairly certain Lizzie wouldn’t have mentioned Tommy at all if Finn hadn’t brought the subject up himself.

“Why did he turn them in?” he asked that afternoon during a lull in the betting.

Lizzie paused what she was doing and sighed. She didn’t ask Finn to clarify who he was talking about, there could only be one  _ he _ in this situation. “He didn’t turn anyone in,” she said. “We were supposed to do a very specific task for the Hughes and his ilk or suffer the consequences. We failed.”

“But we did blow up the train,” Finn protested. “That’s what they wanted.”

“Yes and we also killed Father Hughes, rescued Charlie, informed the Russians of the plot and made off with a hefty sum,” Lizzie said. “They wanted us cowed. This is their way of reasserting dominance.”

“Then why not arrest Tommy too?” Finn asked. “He had more to do with the Russian business than any of the rest of us.”

“Personally?” Lizzie said. “I think they find the rest of the family suffering instead a bit more poetic.”

“So what happens now?” Finn asked. “They’ll all hang.”

“Tommy’s working on it,” Lizzie said and that was all she’d say on the subject for the rest of the time the family was imprisoned. Finn would have asked Tommy himself, but he barely saw Tommy in the months that followed. Given Tommy’s tendency to micro-manage, it was blatantly obvious he was avoiding Finn, something made even more obvious by the fact that he wouldn’t look Finn in the face whenever they did run into each other.

For whatever foolish reason, Finn expected things to go back to normal once the family was freed. They didn’t. Polly and John and Arthur swore off the business entirely and moved out of the Watery Lane house within days. Michael stayed with the company and lived with Finn in the house for a few weeks before getting an apartment of his own and moving out. Finn had been horribly grateful because while Michael had lived in the house Finn had spent most of his nights lying away listening to his cousin’s nightmares. Finn had spent half his life living with three older brothers who all had nightmares, but that didn’t mean he knew what to do to help with them. It also didn’t help that Michael was a completely different flavor of intractable than Tommy was, so the strategies used to deal with one couldn’t be used on the other.

Things were looking pretty hopeless on the family front by the time Christmas Eve 1925 rolled around. Finn found an odd card with a black handprint on it in the mail, but didn’t think anything of it. In fact, he didn’t realize they were in any danger at all until he was called and told to be ready for the whole family to converge on Watery Lane in a few hours. Finn had only a couple hours to attempt to make the house look less like an seventeen-year-old had been living there alone for over a year. He mostly failed. 

Tommy had showed up first cradling a sleepy Charlie. He had to knock on the back door for Finn to let him in, which likely meant Lizzie still had his key, which was interesting to say the least. At first glance he and Charlie looked like rich sods lost in the bad part of town, but a closer look showed that there was blood under Tommy’s fingernails and along his hairline. When Finn asked what had happened, Tommy didn’t reply though he did make eye contact which was an improvement from most of their recent interactions.

“Is there a place where I can put Charlie down?” he asked.

“Your room upstairs is the same as always,” Finn said. In fact, he hadn’t touched anyone’s rooms. Doing so had felt like admitting the family was broken beyond repair.

Something that wasn’t exactly happy passed over Tommy’s face. He shifted Charlie slightly in his arms. Finn wondered if Tommy was aware that he was cradling Charlie like he was ready to take a bullet for him at the least provocation. He figured it was probably best not to mention it. If the blood was any indication it had already been a trying night.

“Thank you,” Tommy had said after a moment and he’d headed up the stairs, leaving Finn standing in the entryway.

Tommy hadn’t come down again after putting Charlie to bed, but the rest of the family had trickled in. Ada showed up with Polly in tow. Polly appeared to be either drunk or high, which was an uncomfortable realization given Polly had basically raised him. Finn didn’t comment. Arthur, Linda and Billy were there too. Linda was in a foul mood, which was understandable given it sounded like Arthur had pulled a gun on her to get her in the car. Again Finn didn’t comment, which seemed to be the way his life went these days.

The hours crawled by and there was no word from Michael, John and Esme. Things got more and more tense. Ada put Karl to bed (perhaps in Tommy’s room because they heard her talking to him upstairs) then came down and made tea. When the pot was empty the whole family wordlessly switched to whiskey, which no one would let Finn touch. He knew better than to point out that he’d been living alone here for a year and the only reason there even was whiskey in the house was because he’d been drinking it.

The sun was mostly up when the phone rang. The awkward conversation had trailed off hours before and it had been silent for so long that everyone jumped. After a moment, Ada got up and went to answer. “Hello?” she said in the practiced kind of voice you only got when you worked the kind of job that required you to answer the phone often. “This is Ada Shelby What can I do for you?”

She listened for a minute, her face twisting in the confusion. “Esme,” she said. “Esme, Esme, talk more slowly. I can’t understand you.” Esme must have slowed down because Ada fell silent and all the color drained out of her face. “Call an ambulance, Esme!” she finally burst out, voice rising with panic. “Why haven’t you called an ambulance?”

Esme replied.

“It’s going to look more suspicious if you don’t call them,” Ada said. “People pay attention to us now. Call an ambulance. Try to stop the bleeding and keep the kids from seeing-” she visibly choked on her words. “Anything,” she finished. “I’ll call Moss.” She waited for Esme to confirm and then hung up.

She stood at the phone table for a minute, then turned to face them. There were tears filling her eyes. None of the family was breathing. They all knew they needed to ask what had happened, but none of them could get the words out.

“What happened, Ada?” Tommy asked, his voice as cool as ice. The family jumped at the sound of his voice. They all turned to see him standing partway up the stairs. No one had heard him come down, which was impressive given how creaky the stairs of the Watery Lane house were. All the blood Finn had seen when he’d arrived was gone. Finn doubted he’d slept, but he looked well-equipped to handle whatever fuckery was going on.

Ada swallowed, visibly trying to control herself. That was just even more indication that things had gone really wrong: Ada had learned to keep herself very well in hand in the years since Freddie had died. “That was Esme,” she said.

“I gathered,” Tommy replied. “What did she say?”

“They were attacked,” Ada said. She sounded like she was forcing the words out. “Michael’s injured and John-” she choked again. “John’s dead.”

The family exploded into an uproar. There was shouting and crying and every other response possible. Polly lunged for the phone, presumably to call Esme back for more details about Michael, only to be grabbed by Arthur before she could trip over something.

“Is there still a phone in the betting house?” Tommy asked, causing Finn to jump again. At least this time it was noisy enough to explain why no one had noticed him finish coming down the stairs.

“Finn,” Tommy pressured.

Finn looked up. Tommy’s expression still hadn’t changed. He didn’t even have the sort of expression you expected from someone who had just heard their cab was delayed, let alone someone who’d just lost their brother. It was honestly somewhat terrifying. Finn had spent the years since the war listening to people whisper about how Tommy’s emotions were just gone, but this was the first time Finn had ever been close to believing it. Surely Tommy had to care John was dead.

“There’s a phone in the betting house?” Tommy repeated.

“Yeah,” Finn nodded.

“I’m going to call Moss,” Tommy said and swept out of the room like nothing in the world mattered.

~~~~

There was blood on Finn’s cap and under his fingernails. He’d grown up on stories of the Peaky Blinders’ escapades, but this was the first time he’d truly participated. Tommy and Arthur has been trying to get him to fill John’s role since Christmas but Finn had trouble with it. When they’d been trying to catch Changretta using Arthur as bait he’d had to admit they he wouldn’t have been able to shoot anyone even though they meant his family harm.

Now staring down at the blood on his hands Finn swore that would never happen again. Arthur had died tonight. How much worse would Finn feel now if he had had the chance to save his older brother and hadn’t because he was too soft? Much worse. He swore that the next time he had the chance to defend his family he wouldn’t hesitate. 

The majority of the family retreated to a side room to lick their wounds before retreating all the way back to the Watery Lane house. Ada and Uncle Charlie passed a bottle of Shelby Company gin back and forth. Lizzie sat in blank silence. Curly paced. Johnny Dogs counted the money they’d made from the fight over and over again. They’d made more than Tommy had estimated they would, but that victory felt hollow. Polly had taken Linda off somewhere, presumably so she could pull herself together, and it was anyone’s guess where Tommy was. Arthur was dead.

Finn clenched his fists. Changretta was going to pay. He would never be too hesitant to pull the trigger again.

The door to the room swung open and they all looked up. Everyone who was armed reached for a gun, but it was just Tommy. He looked at them all, with a strange expression, not quite his customary blankness, but not quite any discernible emotion either. He crossed to the table they all sat at and snapped up one of the unopened bottles of gin from among the chaos that was Johnny’s idiocentric money counting method. They watched in silence while he opened it and took a long drink. 

Finally Tommy lowered the bottle and looked at each of them in turn. “Things are just about cleaned up,” he said. “It’ll be safe to head back to Watery Lane soon.” They’d been living together at the Watery Lane house since Christmas but Finn had never heard Tommy refer to it as “home.” That said, he never called Arrow House home either so maybe the distinction was pointless.

“Do we know what happened?” Ada asked.

“A couple assassins snuck in pretending to be working for Alfie Solomons,” Tommy said slowly. He took another drink, but didn’t say anything else.

“Did Solomons know?” Uncle Charlie asked through gritted teeth.

“Alfie’s a smart man,” Tommy said, which was a great admission for him. His use of Solomons’ first name was a little jarring. Finn saw Tommy and Lizzie exchange a look before he went on, “I don’t think it’s possible he didn’t know.”

“I’ll kill him!” Finn snarled, clenching his blood-stained hands into fists. “I will kill him for this!”

“Focus on Changretta for now,” Tommy said. “This was his plan not Alfie’s and your desire for revenge should reflect that. I’ll deal with Alfie myself once everything else is cleared up.”

“Is there a plan, Tom?” Johnny asked in the kind of tone which suggested he really just wanted reassurance that this wasn’t where it ended.

“There will be,” Tommy said, and turned towards the door, still holding the bottle of gin. “Stay here until I come back. We’ll be leaving soon,” and he left.

Finn didn’t realize he meant to follow Tommy until he was already out of his seat and racing after his brother’s retreating back. “Tommy!”

Tommy had been taking another drink from the bottle of gin. When he heard Finn’s voice, he stopped and turned slowly on his heal, the bottle dropping to his side, dangling loosely from his fingertips. “Go wait with the others, Finn,” he said. “It’s not safe.”

“You just had me fucking cut an assassin with my fucking razor blades,” Finn said peevishly. “I’m a Peaky Blinder, and I’m the only brother you’ve got now. You need me by your side to fill the hole left by Arthur and John.”

Tommy flinched.

It wasn’t much of a flinch, but given Tommy didn’t react most of the time it was like a giant leap. Somehow, Finn had managed to say something which hurt. “Tommy?” he asked.

Tommy’s face was tense, but now that Finn was looking he could see things. He was pale, Finn noticed, and looked a little off unsteady. There was blood under his fingernails again. It was obvious he’d tried to wash his hands but done a haphazard job. Finn couldn’t help but wonder where the blood had come from; Tommy hadn’t touched the man Finn had cut.

“I’m fine,” Tommy said taking another long drink. That was another thing that was wrong. Tommy wasn’t going to win any prizes for being the most sober person to ever live, but he generally wasn’t much for drinking alcohol straight out of the bottle. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Finn thought the answer to that question was blatantly obvious, but something about Tommy’s tone made it seem like it might have been a legitimate question anyway. “Well you did just lose a second brother only months after losing the first,” Finn said, trying to sound reasonable, the way Polly did when she was giving good advice. He didn’t think he managed it, but at least he was able to say the words without choking on emotion. “It would make sense if you were a bit not okay right now.”

Tommy sighed. “Finn, I need to go…”

“We’re going to get them, though,” Finn said. “We’re going to make them pay.”

“I know that,” Tommy said, there was a slight expression on his face, somewhere between pained and annoyed.

“And I can help you,” Finn pushed on. “I can help you make them pay. I know that I’m me, and I couldn’t do it before, but I can now. You’ll see. I know I can’t be Arthur or John but-”

“Stop talking about John!” Tommy snapped.

Finn jumped. Tommy was glaring at him with his teeth clenched and the anger was so unexpected Finn didn’t know how to respond. They stared at each other for a stretch. After a moment, Tommy took another long drink from the bottle. He wouldn’t make eye contact.

Slowly it dawned on Finn that this was Tommy grieving. Tommy had never shown even the slightest bit of grief for John before today. In fact, he’d been so cold about the whole thing that whether or not he cared at all had been a topic of much clandestine discussion over the last few months. Obviously he really did care and it seemed like that confused even him.

When Arthur Shelby Senior had died it had taken Finn months to truly realize he was actually dead and even now he sometimes caught himself wondering how long it would be until the old man showed up to rob them blind again. Looking at Tommy now he realized that was probably what had happened to Tommy with John. Losing Arthur today must have made John’s death real for Tommy. This was probably the first time Tommy had felt any sort of grief about John’s death, and it was hitting him at the same time as grief for another brother. To Tommy it probably felt like he’d lost both Arthur and John at once.

Tommy took another gulp from the bottle. If he were Finn someone would have taken the bottle away from him by now, but whoever tried to take it from Tommy would probably end up dead. Not to mention Finn could count the number of times he’d seen Tommy truly, visibly drunk on one hand. He watched his older brother while trying to figure out what to say. Realizing that this was Tommy grieving explained a lot but not how to deal with it. Tommy was visibly emotional only once in a blue moon, so Finn didn’t know how to handle it.

“Tommy…” he ventured.

There must have been something odd about his tone because Tommy paused and looked at him. “Yes, Finn?”

Finn swallowed and somehow swallowed all the platitudes people used to deal with death too. “Did you ever sing to me when I was little?” he asked instead.

Surprise actually showed plainly on Tommy’s face before he wiped it away. “Why do you ask?” he said coolly, like he hadn’t been surprised at all.

“Because I remember you doing it once after I had a nightmare,” Finn admitted. “I’d sort of started to think it was a dream.”

Tommy was looking at him strangely. The rictus look if grief was gone, but it was hard to tell what expression had taken its place. “I sang to you all the time,” he finally said in an equally odd tone of voice. 

“Really?” Finn couldn’t completely contain his incredulity and from the look Tommy gave him that was obvious.

“You didn’t sleep well as a child,” Tommy explained. “You’d wake up crying all the time and I was the only one who could get you to go back to sleep. I don’t know what Pol and Ada did when we went to France.” He paused for a moment then said, “You really don’t remember that?”

“Only the one time,” Finn said. “That’s on the list of stuff one ever mentions it. There’s a lot of stuff no one ever mentions.”

To his credit, Tommy didn’t even try to deny that. “I didn’t realize you didn’t remember.”

“Would you have done anything different if you had?” Finn asked.

“Perhaps not,” Tommy looked away. It was obvious his mind wandered back to John and Arthur because his expression became pinched again. He started to turn away. “I need to handle some-”

He never got to finish because Finn lunged forward and hugged him.

Tommy went rail-stiff at first, like he didn’t know what to do. Finn didn’t remember the last time he’d hugged Tommy, probably back when he’d been a little kid. Tommy hadn’t even really let anyone touch him when Grace had died. The chaos and brokenness which had followed afterwards had not been conducive to casual touch and the few times someone tried Tommy had fought bitterly like he had with Uncle Charlie just a few hours before. Finn wondered when the last time Tommy had just allowed himself to be hugged by someone who wasn’t his four-year-old was. He decided he didn’t want to know.

At first it seemed like Tommy was just going to stand there without responding to Finn’s touch, then he slowly began to relax and eventually wrapped his arms around Finn in return. The bottle of gin was still grasped in one of his hands and it bumped softly against Finn’s spine in a way that sort of made him want to cry. He hugged Tommy a bit tighter.

They stood like that for a minute or so, then Tommy let go and disentangled himself from Finn’s arms. “I really do need to go handle some things,” he said quietly. “I’ll be back for you all when it’s time to go back to Watery Lane. Okay?”

“Okay,” Finn said. He stepped back and Tommy began to head down the hall. “Tommy,” he called after a moment.

Tommy paused and looked back. “Yes?”

“We’re going to be alright.” Finn meant to sound reassuring and confident, but his own uncertainty and grief crept up on him. “Aren’t we?”

“Yes, we’ll be fine,” Tommy said. Something tired, bitter and confusing crossed his face. “We always are.”

Finn almost pointed out that that obviously wasn’t true in Arthur and John’s case, but Tommy and had already and turned and swept off down the hall. He stood there a moment, then went to join the others.

~~~~

Tommy made his way back to the room where he’d found someone trying to throttle the life out of Arthur. He tried not to think about it. That was difficult. He kept getting caught up the horror of bursting into that room and seeing Arthur lying motionless on the floor, covered in blood and thinking that he’d lost him just the way he’d lost John.

_ No _ . He reprimanded himself.  _ Don’t think about John. Stop thinking about John. You have a job to do. There are things which must be done if you’re going to beat Changretta and they will not get done if you get caught up in thinking about John. _

He was failing epically at that task. He didn’t understand what was going on. He’d been able to go since Christmas without feeling anything when he thought about John beyond some detached disappointment; he didn’t understand why he was suddenly feeling things now. Arthur hadn’t even died. Nothing about the situation had changed, if anything it was going better than it had been a few hours ago because now he had a real plan about how to beat Luca Changretta. There was no reason to be this upset.

Still, he was. He’d known he was still high on the terrified adrenaline rush that had hit him when he’d first seen Arthur’s body and he’d figured that was a good thing because he wasn’t much of an actor and this wasn’t the sort of lie you could sell by being so blank-faced the other person couldn’t tell if you were telling the truth or not. He’d been completely unprepared for the wave of grief that had hit him while he’d stood in the middle of the boxing ring, shooting at the ceiling and shouting about his brother being dead. One moment he’d been focused on setting the plan in motion and feeling a little shocked about how close to death Arthur had come and the next the realization that John really was dead hit him like a freight train. It had been so sudden and so unexpected he didn’t recognize it as grief at first. His first thought was that he needed to sit down because he was either going to pass out or throw up. It wasn’t until he was crouched on the floor of the boxing ring, the ringing in his ears and the black spots fading, and fairly sure he wasn’t about to lose his lunch when he finally realized this feeling was the grief the rest of the family had been panicking about him not experiencing showing up at the most inconvenient time possible.

He’d pushed his way back to his feet and Uncle Charlie had been there, grabbing hold of him. He was probably trying to hug him, but Tommy had responded to the touch like it was an attack, fighting to be free. He was driven by the atavistic instinct to escape and find a quiet place where he could be alone. It was the same instinct which had driven him out of Arrow House night after night following Grace’s death. If he was going to break down he couldn’t be somewhere where others could see.

But he hadn’t broken down. His ability to at least outwardly keep from going completely to pieces surprised even him sometimes. Still, that was different than saying things were good. He couldn’t push himself back into the mindset where John was gone and he felt nothing about it. He  _ needed _ to push himself back into the mindset where John was gone and he felt nothing about it; this plan was good but if it was going to go smoothly, he had no time for things like grief. 

He reached the right door and knocked. “Pol?” He called. “It’s me.”

After a moment Polly unlocked the door and pulled it open. “What took you so long? Do you want this plot to be discovered before anything ever comes of it?”

“I couldn’t shake Finn,” Tommy said stepping by her and into the room. Polly closed and locked the door behind him. “How is Arthur?”

“Asleep,” Polly said. “It seems like he’s going to be fine.”

Arthur was indeed asleep, his head pillowed on Linda’s lap. His throat was carefully bandaged. The worst of the wounds had been on his hand where he’d grabbed the cord to keep it from cutting through his throat; they’d had to sew them up with a small sewing kit Linda had been carrying in her purse. Polly had given the needle and thread to Tommy, probably thinking he would be the calmest of all of them, but that ship had already sailed for the day. The three of them had all been shaking like drugged horses; they were lucky they hadn’t managed to injure Arthur more in their attempts to save him.

“Is that gin?” Linda asked.

Tommy lifted the bottle, it was lighter than it had been before which was weird because he distinctly remembered it being full when he’d picked it up. Had he really drank all of that without noticing? He didn’t feel anything, not even calm, but he had a high alcohol tolerance, so he maybe he wouldn’t. Still he should probably stop, because he couldn’t remember if he’d eaten today and drinking on an empty stomach was bad news no matter how well you could hold your liquor. He offered the bottle to Linda both to get rid of it and because she looked like she needed it. She snatched it from him and took a practiced gulp. She was probably lucky Polly was too distracted to say something biting.

“What happens now?” Polly demanded more than asked. Her expression was a familiar one, one which demanded,  _ “Fix this, Tommy. That’s your job.” _ It was an expression he’d been seeing on the faces of his siblings all his life but Polly had only started wearing it since the war. It hadn’t bothered him at first--it had made him feel safe and in control of at least something in all the chaos to be honest--but it was starting to bother him now. He refused to let himself think about why.

He stretched his neck to give himself time to formulate a response. He might not be feeling drunk, but he did have a headache. That wasn’t exactly unusual these days, except that his neck was stiff and there was a distortion at the edge of his vision which he knew from painful experience meant he was going to have a migraine in the next couple hours. To say this needed to be tied up as quickly as possible was an understatement.

“Aberama Gold is going to take Arthur with him,” Tommy told Polly. “It’s the only way to keep Luca Changretta from figuring out what actually happened.”

“You trust him?” Linda asked, sharp and forbidding.

“As much as I trust anyone right now,” Tommy said.

“If something else happens to him, I’ll kill you,” Linda snarled.

“Just stick to the plan, Linda,” he said because Linda was a smart woman and coddling her was worse than pointless. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Really?” Linda asked. “Because from where I’m standing it looks like Arthur was almost murdered while you were watching a boxing match.”

It was a direct hit. If Tommy were anyone else he would have gotten defensive, but as it was he was able to take it with a blink. Inside, however, was another story. Linda was right. He had disregarded Arthur’s feeling that something was wrong. If they had gone after the suspicious men together things might have been very different. If Tommy hadn’t gone after the second man, Arthur would most likely be dead. Dead because Tommy hadn’t been where he was supposed to be. Just like when John had-

_ Don’t think about John! _

He shoved all thoughts about John as far away as he could, but he could feel them still lingering. He didn’t like feeling like this, like he was one bad step from total collapse. He needed to be in best form right now. If Changretta figured out Arthur wasn’t dead everything would fall apart even more catastrophic than it already had.

There was another knock on the door, Tommy went to open it. Aberama Gold stood on the other side looking a little annoyed at what was being asked of him. Tommy was pretty sure he could trust Gold to keep Arthur’s status among the living a secret until the time came, but as always it was a toss up. His life would be so much easier if he didn’t have to hedge his bets and trust people he didn’t actually trust. Still he had no choice, if Arthur was kept anywhere else someone would figure out and Tommy wasn’t sure how long it would take to build up to the final confrontation with Changretta which would allow Arthur to dramatically return from the dead, he only had a hazy idea what that confrontation would look like anyway.

“Did you bring a truck ‘round to the back like I told you to?” Tommy asked Gold. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Bonnie’s keeping it running.”

“Good,” Tommy said. “Then we need to move quickly before Ada or someone realizes there must be another reason we’re all still here and comes looking for us. Linda, wake Arthur.”

Tommy and Gold half helped half carried Arthur through the halls and out the back door, where a truck was waiting just as Gold had promised. Bonnie was sitting in the driver’s seat, a truly impressive bruise rising on his cheek. Despite all that had happened in the last few hours he still looked buoyantly elated by his victory.

Tommy and Gold hoisted Arthur into the back of the truck and laid him out as comfortably as they could, then stepped back to give Linda a chance to say goodbye. 

“If anything happens to him-“ Tommy began. 

“Don’t bother,” Gold gave him a sharp grin. “I can imagine the threats you’ll use. Nothing will happen to Arthur under my watch.”

Tommy still didn’t trust him but there was no point in saying so when all it would do was make Gold angry and cause Polly and Linda to further doubt him. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. His head gave the first twinge that marked the turning point from headache to migraine. It was time to leave. “Linda, that’s enough,” he called. “We need to collect the others. 

He hopped out of the truck, ignoring the way the landing jarred his head and strode back into the building with Polly and Linda trailing after him. He still didn’t let himself think about John, it would only make him weak and he couldn’t be weak. 

There was revenge to be had. 


End file.
